Like a Puzzle Piece
by Darthkvzn
Summary: The extended Pines family - and, of course, their chosen place of residence - is weird. A part of Dipper has worried, ever since that first summer in Gravity Falls, that this unavoidable - and deeply cherished, of course - aspect of his life might be a dealbreaker for whomever he ends up loving and being loved by. He needn't have worried. Not with Tulip Olsen, at any rate.


It's really no wonder that he ends up falling for Tulip Olsen.

It happens quickly, the all too familiar feelings of a developing crush honoring their namesake by making his freshman year of college both utterly _miserable_ and a dream come true. He already knows he's weak for redheads - Wendy can, mildly cringeworthy reminder aside, attest to that - but Tulip goes above and beyond in proving irresistible for the freshman moonlighting as a paranormal researcher. She's got these huge dreams of becoming an indie game developer, a simultaneously wholesome and macabre sense of humor, and, perhaps most importantly for _any_ of his potential romantic interests, a keen interest in supernatural phenomena. She _must_ have some kind of experience with this kind of thing, given how intently she listens to his lengthy diatribes on cryptozoology and parapsychology, but also in how her gaze sometimes snaps to the side, like she's chasing shadows on the edges of her vision, and how she always ends up staring at nothing in particular for _suspiciously_ long amounts of time.

She also _lacks a reflection_. So, there's _that_.

It's not something he would've easily noticed, painfully shy as he usually is. He's grown out of his shell a lot since the summer of gnomes, lumberjack ghosts, and _Weirdmageddon_, to be sure, but Dipper is still, at his core, an _incredibly_ anxious young man, _especially_ when it comes to social situations. He has a hard time looking anyone but Mabel in the eyes, so it comes as no shock that Tulip is the one to point this haunting fact out to him. And it _is _kind of spooky; it's no trick of the light or elaborate prank, but a genuinely missing reflected image. He tries to take a picture and can only capture a mirrored image of himself and his shocked expression through the lens.

When questioned, Tulip merely grins, shrugs, and says she hopes her reflection is 'still out there, taking in the sights'.

It's _such _a freaky answer. He's in love before he knows it.

There was nothing on any of Great Uncle Ford's journals - or his own works in progress - that could explain this particular phenomenon, and human science certainly can't account for Tulip's missing reflection. She's also not a vampire, however pale she may be. The redhead is not very forthcoming, so Dipper opts for patience. To let things - whether those things are as simple as an explanation to her curious condition, or as complicated as...y'know, _them, together _\- happen naturally.

It pays off. Almost overwhelmingly so.

Tulip and Dipper hit it off like illegal fireworks and Grunkle Stan's old con of Extra Flammable Matches, patent pending (guaranteed to burn if you so much as look at them funny!). Game nights with mutual friends turn to one-on-one playtest sessions of Tulip's game, grabbing lunch turns to cooking for each other - freeze-dried ramen and grilled cheese sandwiches, but it's the thought that counts - and before long, the two become an item. In no time at all, she's late-night researching oddities with him, and he's carrying onions for Tulip's snacking needs. Which, yes, is _quite_ odd, though he can't exactly speak, here. The inside of his glasses's frames and sleep mask is lined with unicorn hair. He spends most of his spring, summer, thanksgiving, and winter breaks exploring the supernatural forests of Gravity Falls. He's got a tattoo of the sealing circle that _almost _defeated Bill Cipher.

They do actually, _officially_ date first, much to Mabel's gleeful shrieking. It's even better than either could've imagined, so it takes no time at all for them to go steady. He's always been fairly honest about his research - thank the gods that people are so used to _weird stuff_ by now - but he actually starts showing her the remnants of the original Journals, still singed by demonic flame. He talks to her about Manotaurs, zombies, and, eventually, about Bill himself. How he still has nightmares about the dream demon. How he found the eerie statue of him that _definitely wasn't there before _and couldn't destroy or move it by any means, earthly or otherwise. How Grunkle Stan occasionally blanks out because, memories restored or not, destroying Bill still _definitely_ and _permanently _damaged his mind.

It's a bonding experience. Harrowing, but cathartic, to share these experiences with someone who didn't live through them with him. Tulip says she thinks she loves him.

And so, she reciprocates. She tells him about the Train.

Only her parents know about it, she says. She wouldn't have told them, but she had to explain five months of disappearance _somehow_. And they wouldn't have believed her, but lacking a reflection due to said reflection being a sentient, _sapient _creature who decided not to live out her days following Tulip through any and all reflective surfaces she decided to pass by, is a _hell _of a convincing argument. She tells him about the Train, with its infinitely varied cars, and the desert hellscape it seems to eternally march through. About the Train's denizens, who may or may not exist, but are _so real _to her. She excitedly tells him of Corginia, a mythical land of intelligent corgies ruled by King Atticus, her loyal friend and companion. She talks about Sad One and Glad One, the two lovable halves of One-One, the Train's Conductor. The Cat, and her morally dubious wiles. Mirror Tulip, and her quest for independence and self-discovery.

She tells him about the glowing numbers. The bizarrely therapeutic but still _incredibly_ dangerous nature of the Train. She recounts the tragedy of the false Conductor - of Amelia, who lost her soulmate and drowned in her grief. Who, over the course of several _decades_, took over the Train and disrupted its natural balance, all for a chance to use its seemingly endless creative potential to recreate the love of her life, growing bitter and violent in her unending failure. She tells him of Atticus's murder, and subsequent transformation into a terrifying, soul-sucking abomination, and the quest to bring him back to his adorably fluffy self.

Tulip spent five months in the Train, and it changed her forever. Her indie game concept has shifted from a _Space Invaders_ clone to a procedurally generated, 'choose your own adventure' point-and-click game set in a mysterious space station that can never be fully explored. She glances at every single mirror she comes across, just in case her reflection decides to pay her a visit. She can't look at a cockroach without going pale and becoming paralyzed with fear.

That one's...not _that _uncommon. Still, Dipper can relate. You don't go through hell - on eternal rails or inside a localized nightmare dimension bubble - and come out unscathed.

Dipper can only conclude that he hopes that she _does _love him, because he's certain that _he_ loves _her_.

With this updated relationship comes the inevitable meeting of the extended family members. Dipper meets her parents - separately, of course, having divorced shortly before her supernatural train ride - and Tulip meets his. He's both relieved and surprised to find out that they're so..._ordinary_. Tulip, on the other hand, seems utterly _baffled _that the elder Pines could've spawned Dipper and Mabel.

Dipper assures her she'll understand, once she visits Gravity Falls.

And just like that, the possibility of Tulip travelling to the worldwide Capital of Weirdness is on the table. It only grows as _they_ grow closer, and becomes an inevitable reality come next Thanksgiving break, which means Dipper has to seriously consider how Tulip will react to his favorite place in the world.

Bill may be gone, but Gravity Falls has not become any less strange in the years since. If anything, without the Society of the Blind Eye to keep the bizarreness to a minimum, it's become something of a melting pot of oddities. With every passing year, the denizens of the forest have crept closer and closer to the town, some - looking at _you_, gnomes - growing so brazen as to roam around the streets in broad daylight. Dipper _loves _it, but he's...well, he can't help but grow a _bit_ concerned about Tulip. Her contact with the magical side of the world was _relatively _brief, and hasn't reoccurred at all since. He's a bit worried that exposing her to Gravity Falls will be too much, even for someone as open to it as she is; the bizarre locales, mind-bending phenomena, and often dangerous magical creatures took _quite_ a bit of getting used to, even for _his_ paranormally obsessed twelve-year-old self. He's worried it'll end up driving her away, even though he knows better. He _should_ know better.

So, they talk.

Tulip is confused; she knows all of these things already. She's believed him the whole time, why doubt him now? Why doubt _her_? The redhead isn't even disappointed, or angry, yet Dipper can't help but feel a little shame at his questioning. He comes clean; he's never been the most confident, and he can't help but overthink everything. Being brave in the face of the apocalypse doesn't seem to translate to the struggles of day to day life as much as he wishes it would. He says that being with her has been so incredible he keeps expecting to wake up and realize it's all been a dream, or, at the very least, for her to realize what a future with a paranoid, fringe researcher actually looks like.

To her, Tulip says, that sounds like the only future she wants to live.

Dipper can't imagine his doubts will ever _truly_ disappear, but that's _way_ beyond any reassurance he could've asked for. It's a promise, really, a prospect beyond their college years that he'll do absolutely _anything_ to see become reality.

It's hardly a _fight_, but they still kiss and make up. In a week's time, they're off, making the drive up to the Pacific Northwest in Mr. Pines's aging Fiat _Palio, _which _kinda_ struggles against the winds and sweeping rain as they get closer north. They listen to spooky podcasts the whole way there, to get in the mood - true crime, cryptid researchers, and straight-up ghost stories - and when they get there, when they cross the threshold Bill Cipher could not escape into the sleepy little town with the biggest secrets imaginable, they both _feel _it. Dipper figures that's how entering the _Twilight Zone _would feel like. Tulip just shivers and tells him, with a knowing, excited grin, that it's like déjà vu - like boarding the Train for the first time, once again. Foreboding, terrifying, and exhilarating, all at the same time.

The welcoming committee, of course, is _huge_ and _loud_. Soos and Melody, heavy with their first child, welcome them to the revamped Mystery Shack, on the porch of which the twin Stans, Wendy, Candy, Grenda, Pacifica, and of course, a very excited, very _shriek-y_ Mabel, await them all. Within _seconds_, the incoming couple is covered in glitter and confetti, as one is liable to in the general vicinity of Mabel Pines. Wendy gives him a smug, knowing look the moment she sees Tulip, which promises endless teasing in his near future. Grunkle Stan punches his shoulder - _hard_, _ow_ \- and berates him for keeping Tulip a secret from him. Who is she gonna hear all the embarrassing puberty-age stories from, after all? Tulip reassures the elder Mr. Pines that Mabel had that covered - she's, unfortunately, _quite _privy to the Lamby Lamby dance already - which prompts a high five between Grunkle and grand-niece. Great Uncle Ford briefly greets and commends them on their relationship before narrowing his eyes at Tulip and asking her if she's aware that her reflection is somehow missing, to which the redhead merely shrugs, saying she's used to it, instantly impressing the old scientist. Candy and Grenda mostly just..._banshee-scream_ at Tulip about how cute she is - with which he _wholeheartedly_ agrees - Pacifica compliments her gorgeous auburn hair, and Mabel…

Mabel hugs her. Not the usual tackle-hug, or a trap leading to a surprise tickle fight, but a genuine, affectionate, lasting-_way_-too-long embrace. Surprised, Tulip asks her what that's for. His twin says it's just, y'know, thanks. For loving her bro-bro.

Dipper wants to cry, but he's pretty sure his time with the Manotaurs irreparably damaged his tear ducts. It's okay, though; Tulip covers for them both.

As Wendy and Mabel help him get their luggage out of the car - and make _excellent _use of the time for teasing purposes, he'll give them that - they watch Soos go over the basics of life in their corner of Gravity Falls with Tulip. It's the usual; always check for Hide-behinds before entering the Shack, never verbally imply you might be willing to consider political marriage with gnome royalty, and be sure to check your surroundings for stray zombies if you go out at night, because _someone_, not naming _names_, may or may not have cursed the Shack's grounds with a spell that _raises the undead_. Tulip takes it in stride, and turns to him when the zombies come up, because _really Dipper_? _Necromancy_? That's _so cliché_.

Mabel shakes her head, amused. She can't imagine _why _he was so worried. Tulip fits into their odd little lives like a flippin' puzzle piece.

Watching his girlfriend eagerly try on a gifted scarf with the Shack's classic Pine tree logo knitted on it, he couldn't possibly agree more.


End file.
